


Someone (No One)

by alcoholandregret



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Break Up, that's literally all this is it's just angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 20:12:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13554726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alcoholandregret/pseuds/alcoholandregret
Summary: The ghost of "this isn't working anymore, Nate," floats around his empty room.Don't get him wrong, okay, he still loves Nate, would never ever stop loving Nate. It just isn't possible. The problem is, really, himself. 'It's not you, it's me,' is rather overplayed, he thinks, but sometimes there's truth to it. This is one of those times.





	Someone (No One)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Let Me Go by Hailee Steinfeld](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=heSU21wvxUQ) and [The Haunting by Set It Off](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YIjrHyCvRR4)
> 
> This came from the prompt "please don't hurt me like this."

It's definitely supposed to be raining when this kind of thing happens, Mikey thinks. That's the way it is in every movie he's ever seen, and any poem or book he had to read for school seemed to follow that pattern, too. If it's a heavily emotional scene, the sky is supposed to be dull and gray, as the rain pours down like the world is crying for the characters, too. Real life isn't quite a romance novel, though, which is why the sun is shining with no clouds in sight as he stands at his bedroom window and watches Nate drive away, the sound of the front door slamming still echoing in his ears.

The world doesn't have to cry for them, anyway. They're doing enough of that for themselves.

It isn't like he shouldn't have expected this, honestly. The words had been bouncing around in his head for weeks, now. He'd known what the repercussions would be if he decided to let them out into the world. It hurts, but all of this was kind of the point, in the end. Not the pain, or the look on Nate's face that would be seared into the back of his mind forever - but the consequence. They'll get over this, water under the bridge. At some point. For now, he hurts, Nate hurts, but it's for the best.

The ghost of "this isn't working anymore, Nate," floats around his empty room.

Nearly two years, now, they'd been dating. The two years was up in just over a month, actually, but it isn't like it matters.

Don't get him wrong, okay, he still loves Nate, would never _ever_ stop loving Nate. It just isn't possible. The problem is, really, himself. _It's not you, it's me,_ is rather overplayed, he thinks, but sometimes there's truth to it. This is one of those times.

Nate deserves the world, the sun, moon, and stars - all of it. He deserves everything, and Mikey can't give him that. It's okay. He's come to terms with it. Nate deserves better than he could provide, no matter how much he loves him. When it comes right down to it, that's why he cut it off. He couldn't keep holding Nate back like that, not when he could easily find someone who will love him in the right way.

They'll be okay. They always are.

He'd made it clear that he still wanted to stay they way they were, just, not official. Or take it down a few notches. They were the same together as they were before Nate had gotten up the courage to actually ask him out, so there is really no reason in his mind that they can't be the same after. Whatever aspects of Mikey-and-Nate that Nate wanted to cut back on, well, that is up to him. The ball is on his side of the court, now.

He only got worried when it started to seem like Nate wasn't going to serve it back. There's, like, a grace period with this kind of thing. He gets that, honest. The thing is they have never really followed the script of the way things are supposed to go. He expected them to bounce back, but it's been nearly two weeks, and Nate won't talk to him at all. Leaves him on read, hangs up before the phone can even finish ringing - sending Mikey straight to voicemail.

The ball was on his side of the court, but Mikey wonders if he just threw it over the fence, never to be seen again.

He starts leaving voicemails, then. Maybe the texts just didn't seem genuine enough. Maybe hearing him will actually help Nate understand.

_Sup, I guess I'm busy. Press one for Nate, or two for Mikey. Leave your message here, and we'll get back to you. Beep._

Every time he hears it, he wonders when Nate's going to change it. Or if he even remembers that's what it says. He'd set it as that probably close to four years ago, now, so that's possible. Either way, it feels a little like he's been punched in the stomach or stabbed in the chest. Depends on the day.

'Hey Nater. Wondering how you're doing? Call me back, okay? I miss you.'

'I'm sorry, Bas. Please talk to me. I need you to understand.'

'I still love you, you know that?'

'You deserve so much better than me, Nate. I never meant to hurt you.'

'I pressed one this time. Did you hear it? I remember when we would laugh when we listened to messages you got and we would hear the click of someone actually pushing the button. I figured maybe if I pressed one for Nate, he'd call me back. It's important.'

The next time he calls, it goes straight to voicemail as always, but-

_Hey, it's Nate. Leave a message. Or don't._

He doesn't.

Mikey was pretty sure he's always had a good read on Nate and how he'd respond to things. That was pretty much his entire thing. _Their_ entire thing, truly, since Nate has always been the same way when it comes to Mikey.

Evidently, he doesn't know him that well. That hurts more than anything else.

Maybe he deserves this. Actually, he probably really fucking does. He had everything he ever wanted, and he threw it away, because he wasn't good enough. He's a fucking professional athlete, okay, he's supposed to know how to work harder - to push himself to his honest to god limits so he can be good enough.

He's not, though. He's not good enough to play for the Devils, and he's not good enough to keep Nate.

This, he knows, is why he did the right thing. He'd never be good enough.

It's like that every day. A rollercoaster of _I fucked up_ and _I did what I had to_ and _it's for the best._ He never knows how he's supposed to feel, just knows he misses his best friend more than anything.

It's been just over a month, and Mikey was in the middle of telling his eggs how badly he'd fucked up when there was a knock at the door. He turns off the stove and goes to the living room to get it, opening the door, spatula in hand.

"Can I-" the rest of the question dying before it can leave his mouth when he sees Nate standing on his front porch. "Nate?"

"No," Nate shakes his head, a small smile on his face, "but you can Mikey."

"You're the worst," he laughs - more out of relief and shock that Nate is actually _there_ than the bad joke - and moves to the side. "I'm making eggs."

Nate steps inside, and Mikey is pretty sure he will never ever take the picture of Nate standing in his living room for granted ever again. "I see that," he points to the spatula.

"Right," Mikey waves it around for a moment and walks back toward the kitchen. "Do you want any?"

"Nah, I had waffles before I left," he slides onto a stool at the island. "But thanks."

He knows they have to talk about everything, obviously. Sooner rather than later. A selfish part of him wants to just... not do that. Not today, at least. Just wants to enjoy this for as long as he can.

He'll grasp onto any shred of normalcy like it's the last string of rope holding him up as he tries to climb up the side of the cliff he'd thrown himself over. It feels like he can see the top, now, as Nate sits in his kitchen and fidgets with the fruit bowl in front of him, spinning it in lazy circles.

"Any plans today?" He asks, scraping the eggs onto a plate before putting it across from Nate, leaning against the counter with his forearms on either side of it.

"Nah," he shakes his head. "You?"

"Already went on a run, so, no, not really."

Nate raises his eyebrows skeptically, and Mikey points his fork at him. "Shut up."

"I didn't say anything."

"I _definitely_ ran this morning, okay?"

He just keeps looking at him like that, and Mikey sighs, stuffing a forkful of eggs into his mouth. "Fine, I was going to go after I ate. Happy?"

Nate just grins, "of course."

He chews a little more aggressively than one would really need to in order to eat _eggs,_ but it makes Nate laugh, and Mikey's stomach flips like he's seventeen again.

"You can still go on a run, I won't stop you."

"Come with me?"

Nate sticks a leg out to show off the fact that he's wearing jeans, and Mikey just rolls his eyes at him. "You know you have sweats here, loser. Just change into those."

Obviously, though he isn't quite sure _why,_ that was the wrong thing to say, because Nate's face twists into something Mikey had only seen a couple of times. He didn't like it at all, and it was a relief when his friend seemed to school his expression back into a more neutral one.

"I forgot," he shrugs. "But sure, I'll go."

He wants to ask how he could just forget that he's left clothes here for years, but he doesn't want an argument. He just really, _really_ wants to pretend that this is normal for them.

"Nice," he grins, genuinely pleased, and shoves the rest of the eggs into his mouth, trying not to laugh when Nate rolls his eyes at him. "Let's go."

He goes to the bathroom while Nate goes up to his room to change, and when he goes back into the living room, Nate is stood there on his phone, in pants that definitely belong to Mikey. They make eye contact, and it's pretty obvious Nate knows that Mikey can tell, so he just makes his best attempt to look unaffected.

"Same route?" Nate asks.

"Same route," Mikey confirms.

Nothing is the same.

The streets look the same, obviously, and the houses and the neighbours, and the same person is running at his side, perfectly in step, but it's all wrong. The silence he always enjoyed when they did this felt too heavy, and it was like he could hear Nate thinking, but instead of making out his actual thoughts, they just manifested as a cloud that surrounded the two of them.

It's probably the longest hour of his entire life, and he's had a whole fucking lot of those recently.

They step back into his house, and the routine from there is just muscle memory that they run through without the need for words. Mikey grabs two protein bars - a lemon one for Nate, because those are the only ones he'll eat - while Nate gets a bottle of Gatorade and two glasses, because Mikey insists the blue kind is the best after a long run, but only if it's in a cup. They sit side by side at the island, swapping a drink for a protein bar, and it's the normalcy Mikey's been craving so badly, but it still feels slightly to the left of where they were. It sucks. Like really fucking sucks.

Nate finishes his first, only finally speaking to ask if the shampoo he uses was still in the bathroom. Mikey nods, because it is, except... just slightly emptier than the last time he used it. He hopes he doesn't notice. He puts his cup in the sink and goes upstairs, and this used to be a daily occurrence, sipping at a cup of Gatorade while he waited for the water to stop running so he could take his turn - every offseason for what feels like forever, this would happen nearly daily. Never before has it felt so lonely.

The water shuts off, and he puts his cup beside the other one before making his way upstairs, feeling like cement bricks were tied to his feet. He doubts it's from the run.

Nate's here, but it feels more like a ghost. Like, if he blinks there will be a protein bar and a glass of Gatorade downstairs at the island, where he'd put them, and the bathroom will be as he left it before the run, and his room will be empty. Instead, there are two cups in his sink, and condensation on the mirror, and the most important person in the world is sitting at the foot of his bed.

Mikey showers faster than usual, like if he took any longer than absolutely necessary, Nate will be gone or this somehow really would have all been a dream. He's still there, though, exactly where he always is, and it almost feels like they've picked up where they left off.

Except, when they climb into Mikey's bed to take a quick nap, they lay back to back instead of tangled together, and that has never, _ever_ been normal for them. Not even when they'd only just become friends.

He tries to just fall asleep, but this has all been too much, and the voice in his head is too loud now, so he can't help it when "I just hope you find someone better than me" escapes from somewhere in his chest.

"I wish I could say the same," Nate says, and neither of them move, and that hurt more than words could describe, really. Mikey knew he'd hurt him, really couldn't avoid it in this situation, but he didn't expect Nate to seem like he hated him or whatever this is.

"Nate-"

"You're not going to find someone who'll love you as much as I did."

_Did._

Mikey rolls over and looks at Nate's back. "That isn't fair-"

"Who said it has to be?"

"Come on," he's choking back tears, now, because there's no reason for Nate to be like this. "You deserve someone who loves you the way you should be loved."

"I do."

"I couldn't _be_ that, Nate."

He sits up, then, and his movements are so abrupt it takes Mikey's breath away. His cheeks are tear streaked, but his expression is cold as stone. "You didn't even fucking _try_."

That hits him like a punch in the face, because he _did_ , he really did. He tried so hard, but in the end he knew it would never be enough. "Don't act like this was an easy thing for me, either."

"Wasn't it?" He says more than asks, a challenge.

"Yeah, Nathan," Mikey sits up now, staring him down, since that's the game he wants to play, apparently. "It fucking sucked. It still sucks. I just want what's best for you."

"Why is it so hard to believe that you were what's best for me?"

"Please," he swallows, "don't hurt me like this."

"It's July twenty-sixth," Nate says as he gets out of the bed and heads for the door. "Just so you know."

He hadn't realised.

"Nate, please-"

"Good luck finding something better."

With that he leaves, shutting the door behind him, and Mikey is left once again staring out his window as Nate drives away. He looks at the calendar hanging on the back of the door he'd left through, and, sure enough, there's a big red two written on today's date.

He looks back out the window and lets the ache in his chest reappear. It doesn't even feel like it's for him, anymore. He just hurts for Nate.

Mikey has never, not since the moment they'd met, wanted anything but the best for Nate. That won't ever change, because, no matter how pissed off at him Nate gets, Mikey will always love him. He'll always be the most important person to him.

It's important that Nate let it go - let him go.

It's what's best for him. It has to be.

**Author's Note:**

> I considered writing another fic to go with it from Nate's POV but who knows yknow. We'll I guess.
> 
> catch me on [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/alcoholnregret) and [tumblr](http://www.sidnate.tumblr.com)


End file.
